18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
T he days passed by at a rapid pace as Charlotte spent her time in the trading room with Reid. She was amazed at how quickly she’d learned basic Chippewa words, though she was never left alone to trade with the Indians. When the trading room was open, he was with her. If he could not communicate with someone who wished to trade, he would call in their translator. Either way, Charlotte spent hours listening to the men speak.
She kept a close tally on the numbers and kinds of fur brought in and recorded the goods given to the Indians. Some Indians came into the post looking for goods without fur, and Reid offered them credit. It was Charlotte’s job to record those transactions as well.
The rituals surrounding the trade were new and unusual to Charlotte. Some of the lesser chiefs and leaders who entered came with great fanfare. They would send a few of their men into the fort ahead of them to procure tobacco and other small gifts from Reid. After they were satisfied, they would discharge their guns outside the stockade. Reid’s men would answer the call with a few shots of their own, and then the Indians were allowed to enter the fort after giving their guns over to Jacques. When the leader would come into the trading room, he and Reid, and sometimes the interpreter, would share a pipe and speak about matters other than trading. This ceremony could take upwards of an hour or two before the official trading would begin.
Along with the gift of tobacco, the Indians also expected alcohol as part of their ritual. Reid gave each man a dram—but no more. When they asked for more, Reid was adamant in his refusal. He couldn’t abide drinking and only did so when absolutely necessary.
Daanis continued to visit Fort McCoy almost every day. She spent hours in Noemie’s cabin, though she often stopped in the trading room to speak to Reid before she left. She ignored Charlotte, for the most part, but her intentions were clear. She was there to entice Reid into a marriage.
Noemie did her best to encourage the relationship as well, talking about Daanis every chance she could. She often told Reid how much he would enjoy a female’s companionship, and when she did, Reid only smiled.
Though Noemie spoke about Daanis often, Reid rarely brought up her name. He did mention other things that bothered him, though.
In the evenings, when the weather was fair, they sat on the bench facing the river and the sunset, and he spoke to her about the trade. His numbers were already far behind where he’d hoped at this time of the year. Granted, the majority of trapping took place in the middle of the winter, when the animals’ fur was at its thickest, but there were those who brought fur at all times of the year—and those were the transactions that were lacking.
“I dinna understand,” Reid said to Charlotte early one morning as she put away their breakfast dishes. “We should have more fur in our storage room by now.”
He sat at the table, the ledger Charlotte used to record their transactions open in front of him. Every morning before they went into the trading room, he looked over the books—and every morning he complained about the problem.
He ran his index finger down the column. “We have half the numbers I hoped for by now.”
“Do you think my arithmetic is wrong?” She glanced at the book over his shoulder.
“No. The numbers look correct.”
She hated to voice her concern—but surely he had thought the same thing. “Perhaps the Indians are taking their furs to the XY post.”
Reid slammed the book closed, and Charlotte jumped.
“Why?” Frustration and worry creased his brow. “Curly Head told me he has encouraged his men to trade with me.”
Charlotte put away the last dish and leaned against the cupboard, knowing he was not angry at her—but at the problem. “Perhaps Lachlan is paying more.”
Shoving his chair back, Reid stood and grabbed his coat off the hook. The weather had turned chilly, forcing him to wear his coat in the morning to go into the trading room where it would be cold. “We shall see about that.”
Scrambling to join him, Charlotte put on her coat as well. They would need to light the fire in the trading room to chase away the chill before they could start to trade. She took a candle and lit it from the fireplace and then banked the fire. She held her hand in front of the candle to keep it lit and followed Reid down the hall, through the storage room, and into the trading room to begin her daily tasks.
The voyageurs usually kept the wood box full, but this morning, there was not enough kindling to get the fire started.
Reid stood at the counter with the ledger open before him again, his eyebrows furrowed.
Not wanting to bother him, Charlotte slipped out of the trading room and walked around the row house to the woodpile on the south side of the building.
As she gathered the sticks, Noemie’s soothing voice traveled on the still, morning air. Peeking around the corner of the row house, Charlotte saw Daanis bent over near Noemie’s cabin, retching onto the ground as Noemie rubbed her back.
A pang of envy touched Charlotte’s heart as she watched Noemie care for her friend like a mother. Charlotte had often admired their closeness, making her long for her own mother. It had been months since Charlotte had spoken to another woman as herself, and she ached for that female companionship.
Noemie was kind and patient as she waited for Daanis to finish, and when she did, Noemie embraced her. Her voice was low and troubled as she patted Daanis’s back. “Does your father know?”
“No. He will be very angry if he learns the truth.”
Charlotte didn’t want to eavesdrop, so she reached for another stick of wood, trying to finish her job before she heard more.
“How far along is the pregnancy?”
Pregnancy? Charlotte’s eyes grew wide and her hand stilled. Was Daanis expecting a child?
“Maybe two months.”
Charlotte’s curiosity was now piqued, and she couldn’t help looking around the corner again to hear the women better.
Noemie put her hand on Daanis’s shoulder. “Does Lachlan know?”
“I’m afraid to tell him. He is already angry at my father for keeping us apart.”
“Are you still meeting with him, even though your father forbids you?”
Daanis wiped her mouth and nodded.
“You are putting yourself and your child in danger by meeting him.” Noemie spoke with a stern voice. “I would caution you to stop.”
“I cannot.” Daanis’s answer was spoken softly. “I love him.”
“All is not lost.” Noemie’s voice was clear and certain. She stood up straight. “If you convince Reid to take you in, there’s still time to make him think the baby is his.”
Charlotte’s heart thudded at Noemie’s words. Would Daanis do that to Reid? Why would the older woman suggest such a thing?
“I fear it is too late,” Daanis said. “Mr. McCoy does not want me.”
“It will work out.” Noemie placed her arm around Daanis, directing her back into the cabin. “It always does.”
Charlotte stood near the woodpile. What should she do with the news? She shouldn’t have listened—should have walked away—because now she would have to decide whether to tell Reid what she’d heard.
Did he need to know Daanis was pregnant with his brother’s child? What would it benefit him if he did? He had no plans to marry Daanis—even if she continued to make herself available. Besides, it wasn’t Charlotte’s news to share. She’d overheard two friends discussing something very personal. It wasn’t her place to spread gossip. If Reid needed to know, she’d tell him—but if he didn’t, she’d keep the information to herself.
Relief should have flooded her at making the decision, but instead sorrow filled her heart. Whether Reid had plans to marry Daanis or not, the chief’s daughter was in love with his rival. A man who had brought Reid a lifetime of pain.
She hoped and prayed he would not continue.
Reid stood in the quiet trading room, his arms crossed as he leaned against the front side of the counter. It had been a week since Charlotte had suggested that the Indians were going to the XY post because Lachlan was paying more for fur. The silence pounded in his head like a war drum, blurring his vision. It was the fourth day in a row that no one had come to trade. If something didn’t change soon, Reid would have no chance at becoming a shareholder in the North West Company. His books were more dismal than Fraser’s.
With nothing to occupy their time, Reid had told Charlotte she was free to spend her afternoon as she wanted, so she had taken her cassette into her room to work on her drawings. She’d created several more since they’d opened the post. She’d shown him one she’d drawn of their trading rituals. He encouraged her to publish them when she returned to England, but he wondered if she would.
Part of him also wondered if she still had the picture she’d drawn of him without his shirt. Would she keep it, even after she left?
He thought a lot about what would happen to Charlotte when she married Stephen. But today was not a day to worry about Charlotte. Today, he needed to learn why he was losing his trade, and the only way to do that was to confront Lachlan.
Reid pulled his coat over his shoulders and buttoned up the front to ward off the October chill. Gray clouds covered the sky, and a northwesterly wind tore the red, orange, and yellow leaves from the trees beyond the fort. Small whitecaps appeared on the Mississippi, blowing the surface of the water upstream.
Without telling Charlotte where he was going, he put on his hat and left the trading room. Jacques stood in the stockade yard around a campfire with three other voyageurs, visiting with one of the Indian wives as she washed their clothing in a large caldron. The scent of wood smoke carried on the cold wind.
“Jacques.” Reid called to his trusted friend, turning his back to the wind.
Jacques left the warmth of the fire and jogged across the yard to Reid. “Oui, Bourgeois?”
“I am going to visit the XY post. I need you to assist Mr. Crawford in the trading room while I’m gone.”
Jacques rubbed his hands together. “Should I join you?”
In any other post, the assistant clerk would be more than capable of overseeing the trading room alone—but Reid did not want to put Charlotte in that position, especially if Rutherford should happen to come earlier than expected.
“No. I want you to stay here. I will go alone.” It was time he faced his brother by himself.
Jacques knew better than to question his bourgeois, so he simply nodded.
“Mr. Crawford is working in his room. I dinna tell him I am leaving, so please tell him when you see him. Close the trading room and the post gates in an hour if no one comes to trade.”
“Oui.” Jacques left Reid and entered the trading room.
Charlotte would probably be angry that Reid didn’t tell her he was leaving, but if he had, she would have tried to talk him out of going—and he needed to go.
It was a long, cold walk to the XY post. The wind pushed at his face and ran down his collar to chill his neck. He pulled his collar up and put his hands in his pockets, trying to stay warm.
Light rain started to fall, but it didn’t bother him. His anger propelled him forward.
He walked around Curly Head’s village so he would not have to speak to anyone he knew—especially Daanis. She continued to visit him at his fort, spending more and more time in the trading room. Her desperation had increased, and he wondered if she was being pressured by her father to make a match. He would prefer it if she stayed away, but he didn’t want to anger Curly Head, so he allowed her to continue her visits.
Lachlan’s post came within sight, and Reid pushed himself forward.
The post gate was open, so Reid walked in without hesitation. Voyageurs stood around campfires inside the stockade, much like they did in Reid’s post. Instead of one row house, there were three separate buildings in the XY post. One was the trading room, one was a sleeping house for the voyageurs, and the other was for the bourgeois.
Men looked up at his arrival, but no one approached him.
He walked directly to the trading house and opened the door. Seven Indian men stood within the room, a pipe smoking in one man’s hand. All the men held cups while the clerk poured a liberal amount of alcohol into them.
They spoke loudly in their own language, and one of them laughed. It was evident that they had been drinking for some time.
They hardly glanced at him.
Was this why the Indians were coming to Lachlan’s post and not Reid’s? The free alcohol? There were no laws to stop Lachlan from serving the Indians alcohol—at least not yet, though several mission societies were working on abolishing the practice. Reid used alcohol as a trade good, but he only gave each man a small amount as a gift. He couldn’t abide a trader who inebriated the Indians to manipulate them—or used alcohol to draw them to his post.
“Mr. McCoy.” The clerk quickly set the jug on the counter and left the Indian men. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to speak with Lachlan.”
“He is busy, but I can assist you.”
“No.” Reid shook his head. “I’ve come to see Lachlan.” He turned to leave the trading room, knowing he’d find Lachlan in his quarters. “I’ll go to his home.”
The clerk rushed forward and stepped between Reid and the door. “He is not in the post.”
Reid almost tripped over the eager man, a frown pulling his eyebrows down. “Where is he?”
“At Curly Head’s village, I believe.” The clerk stammered. “But I could be wrong.”
Irritation prickled Reid’s skin. “When will he return?”
“I’m not sure.” The clerk shrugged. “I’ll tell him you came.”
Reid pushed past the clerk and opened the door. “There’s no need. I’ll wait until he comes back.” The rain fell harder now. Reid leaned against the side of the trading house and crossed his arms.
The voyageurs left their fires and went to their house, but Reid remained.
Soon, a figure entered the fort, and Reid instantly recognized Lachlan. He was walking quickly—and when he spotted Reid, he stopped, though he didn’t look surprised. Had he noticed Reid when he had gone by Curly Head’s village?
Reid pushed away from the building and faced his brother in the yard, the cold rain falling between them.
“What do you want?” Lachlan asked.
“I’ve come to see why the Indians are choosing to trade with you.”
Lachlan took his time as he moved toward Reid, a gleam of victory in his eyes. “They prefer me over you.” He gave a pompous bow. “They are not the only ones.”
Reid knew he meant Daanis, but he would not give Lachlan the satisfaction of becoming angry. It mattered little to him if the chief’s daughter was in love with his brother.
“They do not prefer you,” Reid said instead. “They come for the free alcohol.”
Lachlan shrugged. “I do what I must.”
Reid’s skin crawled with irritation. Though he hated the idea of using alcohol to bribe and lure the trade, he was getting desperate and would do whatever was necessary. He would stop at Curly Head’s village on the way back to his post, and he would spread the word. Anyone who chose to trade at the North West Company post would be given as much alcohol as they desired.
Reid walked past Lachlan and out the gates of the post without a farewell.
Lachlan’s laughter followed Reid until he was out of earshot, but the sound of it echoed in his mind long after the XY post was out of sight.
His brother thought he had bested Reid, but he was sorely mistaken.